


Did We Have an Appointment in Samarra?

by owl_coffee



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Better Than Canon, F You Moffat And Your Fridging of Strong Female Characters, Gen, Not That That's Difficult, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 07:44:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9169195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owl_coffee/pseuds/owl_coffee
Summary: Check your calendar, I'm pretty sure it's a mistake.How it should have ended - perhaps - some alternatives.





	1. Mary

**Author's Note:**

> A few alternative endings for yesterday's Sherlock. Knocked together in the heat of rage, don't expect them to be any good - but do expect them to perhaps be better than canon! I'd be interested to know people's favourite.

Mrs Norbury smiles as she reveals her plan to dispose of the Ambassador in Tbilisi. "I couldn't believe my luck. That bought me a little time."  
Sherlock nods. "But then you brought A.G.R.A in."  
"Very handy," Mrs Norwood says, "They were always such reliable killers."  
Sherlock says to Mary, "What you didn't know, Mary, was that this one also tipped off the hostage-takers."  
Mrs Norwood continues, "Lady Smallwood gave an order, but I sent another one to the terrorists. With a nice little clue about her codename, should anyone have an enquiring mind. Seemed to do the trick."  
Mary saw it all. "You thought your troubles were over."  
Mrs Norwood sighs. "I was tired. Tired of the - mess of it all. I just wanted some peace, some clarity. The hostages were killed, A.G.R.A too - or so I thought. My secret was safe. But apparently not." She nods. "Just a little peace. That's what you wanted too, wasn't it? A family? Home." Mrs Norwood fixes Mary with a look. "Really, I understand. So let me get out of here, right? Let me just walk away. I'll vanish, I'll go forever." She smiles. "What d'you say?"  
Mary is furious. "After what you did!" She runs toward the old lady.  
"Mary, no!" shouts Sherlock.  
Everyone freezes. Mrs Norwood is holding a little handgun, pointed dead at them.  
Mrs Norwood smiles again, and says, "I was never a field agent. I always thought I'd be rather good."

Mary scoffs. "You don't have a fraction of what it takes to survive in the field. Giving orders from far away is more your style. You don't have the first idea what it's like to really work out there." She moves suddenly, sweeps her leg around and pushes - up - around - and the old lady is pinned against the aquarium glass, breath hot against Mary's cheek. Mary squeezes and the gun drops out of shaking, nerveless fingers. It never even has the chance to fire.  
Mrs Norwood is panting. "Let go, please! I won't do anything." She quivers like a trapped bird. Mary adjusts her grip, firmer.  
Sherlock grimaces. "Mary, is that really necessary?" He's such a softie.  
Sensing a sympathetic ear, Mrs Norwood adds, "You're hurting me!" in a pleading tone.  
Mary says firmly, "This woman destroyed my life. She ordered the only family I had to be killed - for what? For a cottage in Cornwall?" Mary calmly brings Mrs Norwood to the floor and twists in a way she knows causes exquisite pain. "And she was willing to kill again to protect her precious secret. She doesn't deserve the kind treatment she's going to get from the police. She found out that A.J. was being tortured - for years - and did nothing to stop it. We should kill her before they get here." Plenty of ways to die in an aquarium. Plenty of ways to make it look like an accident.  
Sherlock's voice is soft, but without a hint of condescension. "That is your right," he agrees quietly. "But is it worthwhile? I thought you wanted to make a new life here. Not - not repeat the old one."  
Mrs Norbury is sobbing. Pathetic. Mary thinks for a moment, weighing the obligations of the past against her fresh start, her new world. Rosamund. John. The police work. She is building something here, after all. "No," she says eventually, heavily. "This is something I have to do. For A.J. For everyone." And she picks up the little pistol with her free hand, readies it. Stupid biddy hadn't even taken off the safety catch. "You understand. You did it yourself with Magnusson."  
Sherlock is silent, but he doesn't move to stop her. She pushes the pistol in underneath Mrs Norbury's chin.  
Mrs Norbury smiles, defiant. "Do it, then. I never - "

But she doesn't get the chance to finish, as Lestrade and the others burst into the room. Abruptly, the calculus shifts. Mary's getting too hesitant in her old age, or perhaps Sherlock's right - it is time to make a fresh start. Mary puts down the gun.  
Mycroft is with them. He says, "Well, Mrs Norbury. I must admit, this is unexpected," in a voice like syrup. She spits at him and he shrinks back, a little disturbed.  
Sherlock smiles with the satisfaction of another resolved case. "Vivian Norbury. You outsmarted them all," he concludes, "All except the last remnant of A.G.R.A. There's no way out this time. You have an appointment."  
Lestrade takes in the situation and says in an admirably level and unsurprised voice, "Thanks Mary - we'll take it from here."  
And they haul her away.


	2. A.

Mrs Norbury smiles as she reveals her plan to dispose of the Ambassador in Tsbilsi. "I couldn't believe my luck. That bought me a little time."  
Sherlock nods. "But then you brought A.G.R.A in."  
"Very handy," Mrs Norwood says, looking smugly at R. "They were always such reliable killers."  
Ajay is trembling in the shadows, barely able to hold himself back. The plan was to record her, yes, have her reveal herself to them, but he didn't know if he could stick with the plan any longer.  
Sherlock says loudly, perhaps trying to disguise Ajay's shift in motion, "What you didn't know, Mary, was that this one also tipped off the hostage-takers."  
R. nods, but she's looking at Ajay from the corner of her eye. She's sending him *no-go*. He freezes.  
Mrs Norwood continues, oblivious, "Lady Smallwood gave an order, but I sent another one to the terrorists. With a nice little clue about her codename, should anyone have an enquiring mind. Seemed to do the trick."  
R. says, "You thought your troubles were over."  
Mrs Norwood sighs. "I was tired. Tired of the - mess of it all."  
Flashback strobes into his memory unwilling - *he's messy again* - laughter, kicking the chair out from under him to rub his face in -  
Ajay wrenches himself back. Mrs Norwood is still talking.  
"- wanted some peace, some clarity. The hostages were killed, A.G.R.A too - or so I thought. My secret was safe. But apparently not." She nods sadly. "Just a little peace. That's what you wanted too, wasn't it? A family? Home." Mrs Norwood looks at R., sympathy radiating from her. "Really, I understand. So let me get out of here, right? Let me just walk away. I'll vanish, I'll go forever." She smiles brightly. "What d'you say?" Only her eyes are poisonous.  
Ajay is furious, can't hold himself back. "After what you did!" He runs toward the old lady.  
"Ajay, no!" shouts R.  
Mrs Norwood draws her gun and fires, but it's too late - he's on her. Hands clench around Mrs Norwood's throat as he shouts, "You!" The Englishwoman. The author of all his misery. The woman who made him doubt his last, his only friend in the world. A.J. twists sharply, like breaking the neck of a chicken and she falls down in a limp bundle. So easy. He never imagined it would be so easy. He stands there for a moment, absorbing the hollowness of his victory.  
R. says, "Your shirt - " and he looks down. A spreading stain of red, so bright. Ah.  
Ajay's knees buckle as they run toward him. R. cradling his head as Ajay finds a new fascination in the shifting colours on the aquarium ceiling. So beautiful.  
R. is pleading, "No. No, no, no! I've just found you, I can't lose you again!" R. promises feverishly, "I'll destroy the memory sticks. Your secrets are safe with me. They'll never, ever know who you really were." People are running into the room, someone's shouting for a medic.  
But he can't cling onto life, even for R. Everything is slipping away. He manages, "Trust you."  
R. chokes, "I trust you. To the ends of the earth - "  
" - and back." Ajay finishes. The shadow of a shark swims across his vision as it darkens. Perhaps it's for the best. He couldn't have made a new life, a normal life, like her. Sometimes there are appointments you just can't avoid.


	3. Mycroft

Mary understands it all. "You thought your troubles were over."  
Mrs Norwood sighs. "I was tired. Tired of the - mess of it all. I just wanted some peace, some clarity. The hostages were killed, A.G.R.A too - or so I thought. My secret was safe. But apparently not." She nods. "Just a little peace. That's what you wanted too, wasn't it? A family? Home." Mrs Norwood fixes Mary with a look. "Really, I understand. So let me get out of here, right? Let me just walk away. I'll vanish, I'll go forever." She smiles. "What d'you say?"  
Mary is furious. "After what you did!" She runs toward the old lady.  
"Mary, no!" shouts Sherlock.  
Everyone freezes. Mrs Norwood is holding a little handgun, pointed dead at them.  
Mrs Norwood smiles again, and says, "I was never a field agent. I always thought I'd be rather good." Mary scoffs.  
Sherlock continues, "Well you handled the operation in Tbilisi rather well - "  
"Thanks!" says Mrs Norwood brightly.  
"For a secretary." Sherlock obviously intends this to be a cutting insult.  
Mrs Norwood says, "What?"  
"Couldn't have been easy, all those years, sitting in the back keeping your mouth shut when you knew you were cleverer than most of the people in the room."  
Mrs Norwood frowns. "I didn't do this out of jealousy."  
Sherlock raises an eyebrow. "No?" He's revelling in his deductive powers. "Same old drudge, day in, day out, never getting out there where all the excitement was. Just getting back to your little flat on Wigmore street."  
Mrs Norwood is silent.  
Sherlock's just getting into his stride, explanation pouring out of him. "They've taken the pavement up outside the post-office there, the clay on your shoes is very distinctive, yes, your _little_ flat - "  
Mrs Norwood asks sharply, "How do you know?"  
Sherlock looks satisfied - the expected response. "Well, on your salary it would have to be modest, you spent all your money on that cottage, what are you, widowed or divorced?" This is getting dangerous. Mary's all for distracting the villain but she looks - "Wedding ring's at least 30 years old, you moved it to another finger, that means you're sentimentally attached to it but you're not still married. I favour widowed given the number of cats you share your life with - "  
Mary warns, "Sherlock!" Stop this word-vomit. You're trying to distract her but it's working too well, she's getting angry. Leave her in peace to put the gun down.  
Sherlock ignores her and blithers on, unstoppably smug in his deductions, "Two Burmese and a tortoiseshell, judging by the cat hairs on your cardigan. A divorcee's more likely to look for a new partner, a widow to fill the void left by her dead husband - "  
Now he's just getting misogynist. Mary says firmly, "Sherlock, don't!"  
He ignores her again - she really has to have words with him when this is over - and continues "Pets do that, or so I'm told. And there's clearly no-one new in your life or you wouldn't be spending your Friday nights in an aquarium - that probably accounts for the drink problem, too, the slight tremor in your hand, the red wine stain ghosting your top lip - so yes!" he finishes triumphantly, "I'd say jealousy was your motive after all. To prove how good you were," he continues inexorably, "Make up for the inadequacies of your _little_ life."  
Finally, finally, Lestrade and the others burst into the room behind them.  
Mycroft is with them and he says, "Well, Mrs Norbury. I must admit, this is unexpected," in a voice like syrup. It's utterly the wrong thing to say. Mrs Norbury looks ashen, determined. Mary can see the murder in her eyes, even if the Holmes brothers can't seem to.  
Sherlock smiles with the satisfaction of another resolved case. "Vivian Norbury. You outsmarted them all," he concludes, "All except Sherlock Holmes." He extends his hand for the gun, imperious. "There's no way out."  
Mrs Norbury says calmly, "So it would seem. You see right through me, Mr Holmes."  
The bitter sarcasm of her tone is apparently lost on Sherlock. "It's what I do," he shrugs.  
Mrs Norbury says, "Maybe I can still surprise you."  
Lestrade pleads, "Be sensible!"  
Mrs Norbury appears to weigh his remark for a moment, then says brightly, sharply, "No, I don't think so." She takes aim and, before anyone can react, shoots Mycroft in the heart.  
  
The civil servant sags to his knees, a bright stain spreading across his shirtfront. Mrs Norbury drops the gun and submits to an arrest, calmly allowing herself to be locked into the handcuffs as the police boil around her suddenly. Too late. Mycroft's mouth is gaping open, blood on his tongue. Sherlock runs to his brother, gaping, for once his clever patter cut off entirely as Mycroft falls to the floor and crumples like a used tissue.  
  
Days later, John asks, "Are you all right?" There's an envelope in Sherlock's hands, grasped listlessly between the forefinger and thumb. No more cheerfully stabbing their correspondence with the knife.  
"They want me to deliver the eulogy," says Sherlock numbly. His face is a rictus of sadness and regret. "I can't. I killed him."  
John tries to be reassuring. "Listen, you couldn't have anticipated - "  
Sherlock shakes his head. "Don't be absurd, John. You weren't there. You didn't see - hear!" he corrects himself savagely. "I baited her until she was wound up like a striking cobra and I aimed her at him. 'All those years sitting in the back keeping your mouth shut' indeed."  
Mary nods silently and puts an arm to his shoulder. John looks at her askance - she's not agreeing with him surely? But he wasn't there.  
Sherlock is actually crying now, horribly shuddering. "She should have gone for me, I wish she had! Oh God, I wish she had!"  
Mary says, "You can't change the consequences of what you've done, regret them as much as you like." She's learnt that by now through bitter experience. "You just have to go on."  
Sherlock takes the letter and tears it into pieces. "Maybe you've learned how to but I can't. I don't think I'm strong enough for that." His face tightens. "I'm not fit for this work any longer." And he leaves the room. A broken man.


	4. In the Tank

Sherlock smiles with the satisfaction of another resolved case. "Vivian Norbury. You outsmarted them all," he concludes, "All except Sherlock Holmes." He extends his hand for the gun, imperious. "There's no way out." Checkmate.  
Mrs Norbury says calmly, "So it would seem. You see right through me, Mr Holmes."  
Sherlock isn't interested in her any more. "It's what I do," he shrugs.  
Mrs Norbury says, "Maybe I can still surprise you."  
Lestrade pleads, "Be sensible!"  
Mrs Norbury appears to weigh his remark for a moment, then says brightly, sharply, "No, I don't think so." She takes aim and, before anyone can react, shoots the glass behind her.  
The world explodes.  
Aquarium glass is specially tempered, Sherlock reflected in the split second it took. Mrs Norbury must have been spending her evenings at the aquarium productively, perhaps with a centre-punch here, a diamond-tipped drillhead there. Weakening the structure just enough so that with a strong blow -  
The shattering glass throws them across the room, followed rapidly by the onslaught of black water. It happens too quickly to take a deep breath, everyone is simply submerged. Mary has managed to grab hold of Mrs Norbury now and they wrestle in the water, sending bubbles streaming as they fight over the gun. Everyone is lacerated by the glass, which hasn't shattered into safe pieces like a car windscreen but sharp, jagged shards that embed themselves in your hands as you try to swim away, to get out up the corridor - but the corridor is closed. Mrs Norbury thought of that, of course.  
Only one escape route left. (The merchant he dug his spurs in its flanks and as fast as the horse could gallop he went). Sherlock swims out through the broken-open front of the viewing window, into the main aquarium itself.  
Into the shark tank.  
They move like black ribbons through the water - elegant, keen. At first they're only curious, and Sherlock begins to hope that he might make it out to safety. He swims as fast as he can, legs pumping, head light and ears painful as he ascends too rapidly inside the tank, desperate for air.  
Then they notice him in earnest. Sherlock thinks idly of his research into sharks for the Baker case. He understands that the blood streaming from his fresh cuts can't be disguised. It is a death sentence.  
I didn't understand her motives at all, Sherlock thinks in astonishment and shame as the sharks bump up against him. (He has an appointment in Samarra). From above, a great dark shadow circles closer, and Sherlock has time to wonder how much the teeth will hurt -


End file.
